


Thurgilsons, vol. 1 - Homeland

by MissGuided12



Series: Thurgilsons [1]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Brotherly Love, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Psychopathy, Family Drama, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Minor Violence, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Tags are getting more intense as they grow older, Teenage Drama, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, teenage love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGuided12/pseuds/MissGuided12
Summary: This is a backstory about the Thurgilson brothers, because the world needs more Sigefrid and Erik!! This part focuses on their childhood and teenage years, the events that shaped them and their unique bond.It's less of a bloody raiding adventure, and more of a family drama about childhood/teenage psychopathy with a Viking twist. It's also a love story. I tried not to shy away from darker aspects of their lives and personalities: they were violent people living through a violent time, and Sigefrid is very much a psychopath despite also being a funny man. I also tried to capture how lovable they are, despite it all. I hope that it balances out, and that I put sufficient warnings (the violence isn't too descriptive or gratuitous).
Relationships: Erik Thurgilson & Sigefrid Thurgilson
Series: Thurgilsons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123280
Comments: 92
Kudos: 7
Collections: I would like that: A Sigefrid Collection





	1. Night of a Whole Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I have such a weak spot for the Erik and Sigefrid characters from TLK, and for their complicated relationship. 
> 
> I imagined what they must have gone through to become who they are when we meet them in TLK S2: what growing up with Sigefrid would have been like for Erik, what shaped their special relationship, how raising Sigefrid was like for his parents, how they joined the raids and became Vikings, then war lords. 
> 
> The focus is on their childhood and teenager years, but it might lead to more stories down the road. Since Sig and Erik were in Frankia before they took Beamfleot and then Lunden, I thought they might have gotten involved in the 885-886 failed Siege of Paris, so there’s lots of room to grow their story!
> 
> But for the moment, this is less of a plundering adventure, and more of a drama about family, teenage romance and brotherly love. I put a lot of heart into it, I hope you like it!
> 
> I also cannot pretend to have any sort of knowledge of how old Norse sounds like, so everyone speaks in fairly contemporary English, with the convenient assumption that characters would have sounded contemporary to each other.

Solveig’s abdomen had grown tense and itchy, and her hips had started to cramp up, making it harder to walk. 

It will be soon, she’d told Thurgil that morning, so he’d left to fetch her mother and sister across the fjord with a faering. He’d looked almost panicked, scrambling to prepare to sail. Almost forgot his boots. He hugged her too hard before stepping on the embarkation. Just like the other times. 

She’d always been his weak spot. She’d put the children to bed and was mending her daughter’s dress, sitting by the hall’s hearth with her feet raised up, when the contractions began in earnest. 

It had not been so intense nor sudden with the previous two. A girl, and then a boy, aged six and three now. Freya had blessed Solveig with easy enough deliveries, but this one felt particularly rushed. She did not mind the pain, so much as the prospect of delivering alone before her husband could return with help. 

The slaves and servants had retired to their quarters, and were too far to fetch now. She’d been foolish not to keep at least a woman by her side. She just didn’t think. 

Solveig decided to head outside to walk out the pain. The sky was clear and the full moon was out, throning above its twin reflection on the water. A warm night. 

She felt a burst, and warm liquid ran down her legs. She reached the water, stepped bare feet into the fjord and felt some relief, so she decided to sit. She took off her wet dress to escape its constraints and lied naked in the water, her swelled belly glowing in the moon light.

Contractions grew stronger, longer, more intense, and sooner than she thought was possible, she felt the unavoidable urge to push. Wolves were owling somewhere up in the hills, and she joined their calls with her own screams as she knelt and pushed with all her strengths, feeling her innards splitting open. 

She reached down to touch and felt some hair, and knew what was next to come. “Freya, be with me,” she whispered, and with the next few contractions, she channelled her efforts into expulsing a head, and then a pair of shoulders. The rest slid out without much effort. 

It was a boy, a strong healthy boy. She rubbed and tapped his tiny back, holding him head down, and he let out a loud wale. Viking lungs, she smiled. They were sitting together in the warm shallow water, his tiny body against her breast, when Thurgil’s faering appeared in the horizon. 

He saw her and burst out laughing, that nervous snorting laugh he found so embarrassing, and she laughed too. That man of hers, if anything had happened, she knew he would have never forgiven himself. 

Solveig’s mother took the infant, scorned her, cut the cord with a small knife and wrapped him in her skirts. 

Her sister checked on the placenta, which she’d pushed out mindlessly. She and Thurgil helped Solveig up to her feet, and together the three of them walked back inside the family hall, where she lied on the larger platform bed with the baby suckling on her nipple. 

What a sweet one he was, she though. Her moon baby. Fair, blue eyed, gentle like his father. The other two took after her. Stubborn, though, quick tempered. It would be hard not to spoil this one, she thought. 

“We will call him Máni”, Thurgil announced to the women, beaming. 

“Máni?!” Solveig responded, incredulous. “Thurgil, I do not wish for my son to be chased by wolves.” 

She caressed the sleeping baby’s head and said, “I wish to call him Erik, like my father”. 

And it was settled. Thurgil had never been able to refuse her anything. 

Their toddler’s little head peaked above the bed. He’d snuck out of the platform where he slept, and was now fixated on the newborn. To Solveig, his little hands suddenly looked enormous. She let him reach for the baby, watching carefully. He was a rough, unpredictable child. 

“Hello, baby bvother,” Sigefrid said, in a high pitch voice, as he petted the newborn’s hand, gently enough. 

“I vill not let volves eat you, baby,” he said, very seriously. 

And from this day onward, Sigefrid protected Erik ferociously, as Erik was his, and his only, to torment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to begin with this story! From the way Erik tells it to Aethelflaed in TLK, you get the sense that his mom called the shots, and it helped me imagine her character. I also thought she’d need to be tough as nails to raise Sigefrid.


	2. Fangs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: blood, corporal punishment.

In time, Thurgil, who was a well-respected man, was chosen to replace the local earl who’d fallen ill and died, and the family had moved into a larger hall in the little settlement by the harbor. 

Thurgil was a lenient lord, but Solveig more than made up for it. He and the men he commanded would often travel to trade or raid, sometimes for several months at a time. Solveig remained in the village with the children, resolving disputes and ruling over their community in his absence. The land was though to farm and winters were harsh, but their people knew peace and scrambled to produce enough to feed everyone. 

Solveig’s father had passed, and her mother had come to live with them. She’d miscarried a few times since Erik’s birth, and feared that no more children would come. Runa, the eldest, was growing fast, reigning supreme over her pest brothers. Arrangements had been made for her to marry Sigur, the neighbor earl’s son, when she’d be of age. 

Sigefrid’s wild temper was a source of increasing worries, and Erik was often on the receiving end of it. When his brother turned four, Siegfrid decided that Erik was big enough to learn sword skills, which mainly meant Siegfrid chasing him around and hitting him with his wooden sword. 

“Erik, again? What happened to your face?” Runa asked over the simmering pot she was stirring. 

His little face was so swollen he could barely see from one eye, yet he answered bravely. “Sigefrid showed me this new move.”

“SIGEFRID!!! He won’t become a warrior if you kill him, you feather-brain monster!!”

“He’s too slow…” Sigefrid shrugged. “I’m training him so we can raid.” 

“Raid what? He’s four! I’m going to tell mother and she’ll whip you.”

“She won’t. I’m looking out for him!”

“For whom?” asked Solveig, as she stepped through the door. 

“I started Erik’s training. He’s slow so he gets bruised…” Sigefried explained to his mother, patiently, as she walked into the hall. 

“I see.” She took one look at Erik’s swollen face and turned back to stare his brother down. “Maybe I should train you, Sigefrid, how would you like that?” 

And Solveig grabbed the long sword that hung by the door. Sigefried’s eyes widened. His toy sword suddenly felt tiny in his little hands. 

“Show me what you know, warrior.” 

Sigefrid was afraid, but he was no coward. He charged, clumsily, and within seconds the fight was over. He was on his bum, his mother’s sword against his throat. The sharp blade scratched his skin and drew a bit of blood. Solveig weighted her words. 

“Listen well, son.” Sigefrid was all ears. “There is no honor in the big defeating the small. None. But teach him well, and you will earn my respect.”

And from then on, Sigefrid took pride in teaching Erik everything he knew, for he cared deeply about impressing his mother. Erik repaid his efforts with earnest adoration. Sigefrid was his world. 

One afternoon, Erik ran into Solveig’s skirts, screaming at the top of his lungs. His mouth was bleeding heavily. Solveig bent down to pick up her youngest, and was shocked to realize his two front teeth were missing. 

“SIGEFRID!!!!” she raged, and this time she thought she might actually kill him for good. 

In a corner, Runa and her grand-mother snickered. Sigefrid arrived, out of breath, and stopped in his track when he saw his mother holding the horse’s whip. 

“Explain yourself.”

Sigefrid looked down. This time he’d really messed up, and there would be no easy way out. Erik’s hysterical screams did not help. 

“It was a mistake,” he admitted, in his biggest, calmest voice. “We meant to scare off Ivar and his friends, they’ve been bothering us?...” 

Ivar was the eldest son of Thurgil’s blacksmith. He was nine, and much bigger than Sigefrid, who was about to turn eight. Somehow they always seemed to find themselves in each other’s path. 

“So I thought we could sharpen our teeth. Make them pointy, like a wolf. With my knife…” his voice faded to a whisper.

“…”

“Erik’s are just baby teeth?...” Sigefrid tried again. 

Solveig said nothing, and Sigefrid understood what was to come next. He figured it was best to get it over with quickly. He removed his tunic, turned his back to his mother and braced himself for the whipping. His mother gave him 10 lashes, more than he’d ever received. 

When the whipping stopped, he was kneeling on the floor on all fours, tears flowing down his cheeks, but he did not scream. 

“You will give your knife to your brother,” Solveig said, severely.

“Yes, mother,” he whispered, and she left him there to pick himself up. 

Solveig despaired that common sense may never settle in her wild boy’s head. That knife had been his most prized possession, passed down in the family from her grandfather, who’d apparently traded for it with a Frankish merchant. Losing it was by far the biggest sting. 

Erik approached his brother, tentatively. 

“Go away,” Sigefried whimpered. 

“Fforry, Ffigefrid,” he said. “I got ffcared.” Blood was sputtering out of his little mouth as he spoke. 

“I’m sorry too, kid. I did not do your teeth right… It would have looked terrifying…”

“Yeah…” Erik offered. “Maybe affter they gwow back?” 

“Maybe not… You take good care of it, ok. Of my knife.”

“Yeah.” Erik promised with bright, earnest eyes. And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From what I've read about childhood psychopathy, the children are not particularly bothered by punishment, but they really respond to rewards. In time, I'm thinking that Sigefrid's parents would have tried to keep him on track by dangling rewards like slaughtering lambs, sword fight training, or the right to participate in raids as constructive ways to channel his darker urges. 
> 
> I also think that they would have felt strongly about keeping Erik safe.


	3. The Trap

Erik’s adult front teeth grew out, eventually, and the Thurgilson boys’ rivalry with Ivar and his gang worsened. By the time they were ten and seven, Sigefrid and Erik had their own following of younger kids, and the children would ambush each other in the woods, fighting it out with wooden swords and spears, dreaming of raids and battle. 

Erik would bring his knife, the one Sigefrid had given up for him, and he’d use it to cut branches for a new fortress they were building up in the woods. One day when he was there by himself, Ivar showed up with a couple of older kids, and Erik was powerless to prevent them from ripping the knife right out of his hand.

He came home raging, but dreaded telling Sigefrid that the knife was lost. Still, he would need Sig to take it back, so he had to gather the courage to approach his brother, man on man. 

Sigefrid was slaughtering a lamb, one of his new favorite chores. Erik watched him bring his axe down on the animal’s neck, a rather messy affair. Once the lamb was good and dead, Erik spoke up.

“Sig?…”

“What?”

Erik let out the words quickly. “Ivar stole the knife.” He’d never dared to call it his knife, knowing how much the weapon meant to Sigefrid. 

“You stupid donkey fart, you brought it into the woods again?”

“I did…” Erik felt dumb, and expected some blows which he figured he deserved. “Maybe we should tell mother?” he offered. 

Ivar and his family would definitely get in trouble if the earl’s wife got involved. But Sigefrid wanted to handle the matter himself, like the man that he was not. 

“We will get it back. I will gather our men to storm Ivar’s fortress.”

Erik thought they stood no chance against the older boys. He pondered for a bit, and eventually proposed, “What if we set up a trap?”

“What kind of trap?” 

“We could dig a big hole and cover it up… Wait until Ivar has the knife. Send some spies? When he does, we lure him to our trap with something he wants, make him chase us.” 

Sigefrid stared at his brother, impressed. He probed him some more. “What do you think he’d chase us for?”

“Mother’s sword?”

Sigefrid burst out a big, happy laugh. 

“Erik, this is genius! Let’s set a trap!” 

Erik was beaming. He’d lost the knife, and in exchange he’d offered Sigefrid tactical warfare. 

The children had to work fast. They chose an afternoon when older kids were busy scrubbing ships to dig a hole between two high trees, along a path that led deeper into the forest. 

Sigefrid sent two scouts to watch Ivar and his friends at the docks, and put the rest of his little men to work with picks and shovels. By the end of the day, they’d dug a hole about as deep as Erik was tall, and had covered it up with spruce branches.

They’d stolen an old fishing net, weighted it with rocks, and Revna, who was their best climber, suspended it up in the trees so it could be dropped to seal the trap. 

Then the waiting game started. Sigefrid had recruited Ivar’s little neighbor, Helga, to notify everyone if Ivar was to leave his house with the knife, which he’d described in detail. 

That took a long time, more than Sigefrid had patience for. Ivar’s father was a blacksmith, and his son had his pick of tools and weapons. The kids had half-forgotten about their trap when Helga ran to the earl’s house, out of breath, her tiny feet leaving a trail of mud on the ground floor. It had been raining on and off for about 3 days. 

“He has the knife,” she breathed out to Erik, in her tiny raspy voice. 

“Where is he?” 

“Toward the river.” 

Erik fetched Sigefrid who was trying to chop wood with the big axe. 

“How many?” Sigefrid asked. 

“Just Ivar and Skarde,” Helga said.

“Then we act now,” Sigefrid decided. 

Sigefrid went inside and climbed on a stool to reach the fine sword his mother liked to suspend by the hall’s main door. He only lacked a few more inches to reach it. The weapon was thin, which made it light, but always sharpened with care. Light enough for a woman, and irresistible to a growing boy. The perfect bait. 

The children split to gather their numbers, but only two more managed to dodge their chores to go chase mischief in the mud. 

“It will do,” Sigefrid convinced himself. 

“What’s the plan?” Leif asked. 

“I should be bait,” Erik said. “I’m smaller.”

“Erik takes the sword,” Sigefrid agreed. “Make them see you, but don’t get too close.”

“Then what?” he asked.

“You run?” Sigefrid proposed.

“I could run,” Leif proposed. He was a good head taller than Erik. Long and lean for an eight-year-old. “I’m faster. I hide. When they start chasing Erik, I grab the sword and I run toward the trap.”

“Then they’ll know it’s a trap…” Sigefrid thought.

“Bring your wood sword. We’ll play. Pretend to train me,” Erik proposed.

“And we’ll climb up and release the net,” Sigefrid added, pointing to himself and Revna. 

“And me?” Helga wondered. 

She was so small. Erik offered “You play on the path, and you block Skarde’s way. We need Ivar to fall in, with the knife.”

The trap was set. Ivar and Skarde had brought a fleet of toy ships which they were releasing in the stream whose current had been strengthened by the rain. Ivar was using the knife to cut some twigs to repair one of the toys. 

Leif and Erik chose a spot up on a hill from which they knew they could be seen. “Here?” Leif asked. Erik nodded. He struggled to lift up the sword.

Leif charged him, wacked the sword, and Erik dropped it in the mud. Ivar and Skarde turned their heads, saw them, and chose to ignore them. 

Erik picked up the sword, lifted it up high for a good second, then wobbled it down slowly toward Leif’s head, who stepped back. This time Ivar noticed the weapon. He gestured to his brother to gather the ships, grabbed the knife, and raced up the hill. 

“Now?” Leif asked. 

Erik hesitated. “Now, Erik, give it!!” Ivar was approaching at top speed. 

Leif grabbed the sword, swung it backward on his shoulder and bolted down the path that led to the trap. Ivar slipped in the wet grass, got back up and ran behind Leif, shoving Erik to the side. 

Within minutes, he’d managed to catch up to Leif, who’d turned back to face him, panting heavily. Leif grounded his feet, threatening Ivar with the sword. Ivar took a good look at the skinny boy and grinned. Skarde had managed to catch up with them and stood by his brother. 

Ivar wiped mud off the knife with his tunic. He yelled at his brother to charge, but out of nowhere Helga came out, hugged Skarde’s leg and sat on his foot. Ivar charged alone and stepped right into the trap, which had filled up with twigs and water so it made a big splash when the branches collapsed under him. 

Leif picked up the knife Ivar had dropped. Sigefrid shouted his big boy war cry, and he and Revna tried to release the net onto Ivar who was screeching in pain, but the net was badly tangled in tree branches. Sigefrid freed a large rock they’d tied to the net and hurled it  
straight at Ivar’s head. Ivar dropped down like a bag of grain just as Erik was arriving at the scene. 

Skarde saw Leif with the sword and knife, and chose not to pick that fight. Erik, Revna and Leif rushed to Ivar’s side. He was unconscious and bleeding from the head. They pulled him out of the trap and saw that a short branch had pierced through his foot. 

“He’s dead!!” Helga screamed, but Erik reassured her. “He’s breathing.”

“We tie him up!!” Sigefrid bellowed. 

“Sig…”

“We tie him to a tree, and when he wakes up we skin his busted foot with my knife!! That will teach him not to be a rotting thief!!!”

“Sig, he needs help,” Revna said. 

Erik looked at Sigefrid, calmly. “I’m getting mother.”

Sigefrid was furious. “Erik, don’t you dare!!” 

“I’ll go with him,” Leif said. “You guys watch Ivar. Don’t move him.” He looked at Sigefrid. “Don’t skin him.”

Solveig arrived with two strong slaves who carried Ivar, who was dazed but alert, on a large plank to his father’s home. The children followed from a distance and no word was spoken. 

Sigefrid couldn’t wait for his mother’s silence to lead to some sort of punishment. The wait was always the worst part.

“Speak,” she finally said, later that night. 

Before Sigefrid could get a word out, Erik blurted, “we took the knife back.”

She gave them the stare. “The… knife?”

So he explained, bravely, “our knife. Ivar stole it, so we set a trap, we ambushed him, and we got it back.”

“Ivar took my grand-father’s knife. And you did not tell me.” Erik’s stomach sank.

“I wanted to handle it,” Sigefrid said, calmly.

“Well, you sure handled it,” Solveig scorned. “You took my sword too,” she added. 

“We borrowed it,” Erik admitted, in a small voice. “We needed a bait.”

“A bait?” Solveig laughed, despite herself. Curiosity got the best of her. “How did you trap him?!” she asked, excitedly. And they gave her the full story. 

She finally said, “Ivar’s family will seek compensation.”

And they did. Two days later, Torsten required to be heard in earl Thurgil’s hall. Thurgil was travelling, as was often the case. Solveig sat in the earl’s chair, raised on a platform that overlooked the hall. Her boys stood at the platform’s edge, odly quiet for once. 

“How is Ivar?” she inquired.

“Gravely injured, thanks to Sigefrid,” Torsten shot the boys a furious look.

“A most unfortunate incident,” Solveid nodded, solemn.

“He may never recover.” Torsten cleared his throat, and declared, loudly, “I request that Thurgil pays the mulct for a warrior’s life.”

“For his life?” Solveig scorned. “Your son is a child, not a warrior. And, as far as I can tell, he lives.” She gave her sons a tentative look. “I’m also told that there was theft.”

“Theft?!”

“Ivar stole from my family. A knife, a fine one. As far as I’m concerned, justice was served for Ivar’s crime.”

Torsten scoffed. “Solveig, it was a kid’s game, nothing more. The knife could have easily been returned without mutilating my eldest!”

“Ivar is eleven. Old enough to be punished for theft.”

“My son is no thief!!”

“Yet he stole.”

Torsten exploded. “If earl Thurgil will not pay retribution, then I challenge him to a holmgang.” 

“Over a little kids’ skirmish? Torsten, you cannot be serious.”

“I am. I seek justice, and you insult me! When Thurgil returns, I will fight him.”

“In Thurgil’s absence, I am earl,” Solveig stood up. “I will make the square with you.” 

Torsten was taken aback. “What honor is there in fighting you?” he spat into the heart’s fire. 

“You challenged the earl to a holmgang.”

“Earl Thurgil.”

“Who is absent. You will fight me, or you will withdraw your claim.”

“Your husband should rip off your tong, woman!!”

“Fight. Withdraw. Or leave,” Solveig threatened. A handful of Solveig’s men had gotten closer, and Torsten felt cornered. He could only imagine the shit storm that would fall on his head had he defeated the earl's wife in single combat, and he was sensible enough to recognize a lost cause. “I withdraw my claim,” he grumbled, and he spat again.

Solveig sat down, slowly. “I wish to offer compensation.”

“You do?”

“My sons. They will perform Ivar’s chores and duties until he’s recovered his health. If they disobey, you can beat them as you see fit, within reason. I trust that you are a fair man, Tolsten. There will be no more bad blood between our families.”

The brothers did not take Solveig’s decision particularly well.

“But I’m the son of an earl!!” Sigefrid whined, raging at the perceived unfairness. 

“Yes.” Solveig answered calmly, without looking up from her sewing. “The living, breathing son of an earl. Pray the gods that things remain this way.”

Sigefrid and Erik toiled hard throughout the duration of Ivar’s recovery, which stretched over several months. In time, Ivar regained strength and mobility, although his injury changed him. He’d been petulant and quick tempered, and he was quieter, mellow, suddenly pious. Sometimes he’d stare into nothing as if his mind had gone elsewhere, or he’d drop to the ground and convulse as if the gods were pulling his strings like a puppet.

Torsten complained that he’d lost a warrior and gained a lame mule, but in time, the village agreed that the Thurgilson boys had repaid their debt, and they were freed to return home.


	4. Leaving the Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some underage non-consensual stuff. Teenage Sigefrid has boundary issues...

Runa was married the spring after she’d turned 14. She and Sigur were to share a small house on his father’s land, a few days’ sailing distance from her parents’ home. As the eldest son, Sigur’s father’s land was to become his when the time came. 

Runa was ecstatic to leave her rowdy brothers behind and start anew. Her fiancé was a serious young man, almost 21. She found him mature and reliable. Her brothers never missed a chance to let her know how dull he was. 

“If he treats you poorly, I will send him your mother,” her father threatened. 

“If he bores you to death, send for us!” Sigefrid added. 

“I’d rather die of boredom than put up with your stinky feet for another day, Sig.”

Solveig had done what she thought was best to prepare her daughter for adulthood.

“You know what to expect, right? From him? What he’ll want from you?”

Runa shrugged. “Mother, I live with you. There is very little mystery left…”

“Just making sure! It’s best if he prepares you, before he sticks it in. Do you know how to do that? Have you played with it?” she gestured.

From the kitchen, Runa called out for her brother. “Sigefrid!! please stick a blade in my ear and end my misery!”

Sigefrid came running with a grin. “Which side?”

Solveig froze him with a stare. “Son, that won’t be necessary.” She turned to her daughter, insisting, “I believe girls deserve at least a minimum of education.”

“And I forfeit my right to an education!”

“Runa…”

“I’m fine! I’ll figure it out. Thanks, mother,” and she kissed Solveig on the cheek, slipping out of her grasp.

“As you wish! When you come back crying, I’ll teach you the rest!!”

The celebrations stretched over many days, and cemented the bond between the two earls. Solveig was relieved that the match seemed well made. Her daughter would be established and cared for. 

When it was over, the newlyweds took a boat, and sailed to their new dwelling. Soon, Runa was expecting, which made her even bossier. And Sigefrid’s overbearing ways filled the power void created by his sister’s departure. 

Earl Thurgil put one of his young warriors in charge of teaching his son sword skills, hoping to channel his raw energy into something he enjoyed. In time, no local boy was foolish enough to cross Sigefrid, and packs of children rallied dutifully behind the Thurgilson brothers. 

The boys dreamed of raids and conquest, hanging around the harbor like a pack of rowdy seagulls, beggin for tales of riches and adventure that came back with the ships. Some ships would leave for entire seasons, and families were sailing South to claim new fertile lands and start over. The future seemed limitless for those who dared to tempt their luck. 

Over the next few seasons, Sigefrid developed other interests beside chopping things. Their parents had been away on a trading trip, when Erik reached a breaking point. His brother had brought a girlfriend home to share his bed. Again. They were going at it on the sleeping platform typically shared by their parents, and the girl had been making an awful lot of noise. 

“Sig… Sig! SIG!!! knock it off!!”, Erik yelled toward his brother. 

Erik was convinced that Sigefrid always picked the loudest girls on purpose. He usually avoided crossing his brother, out of self-preservation, but after three nights of perturbed sleep, he’d had enough. The young couple laughed, and doubled in volume to spite him. 

“I’ll go sleep on my boat…” Erik got up, grabbed some furs and a blanket from his bed, and walked out. 

“Your baby brother his leaving!”, the girl snickered. 

“Hey, Tiny Cock. TINY COCK! Come here!” Sigefrid called out to Erik.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Kid, come here. Wanna touch your first pair of tits? Come, we’ll make a man out of you!”

“Goodnight, Sig.” Erik continued toward the door. 

“He’s scared!” she laughed.

“Heard that, Erik? The lady thinks you’re scared of her tits. Aren’t you going to prove her wrong?”

“I’m not scared. I’m tired. I wish to sleep,” he grumbled.

“Awww come here, don’t be like that!” Sigefrid called. He turned to his partner, “He’s a good kid. Show him some love!” 

“Erik, come here,” she said softly. 

She stood up, her naked body bathing in the glow of the embers dying in the central hearth. She walked up to him, took his hands and placed them on her breasts, then she bent down to kiss him. 

Erik felt a rush of nausea and turned his head sideways in embarrassment. He ripped his hands off her body and stumbled out the door. 

“I think you broke him…” Sigefrid laughed. “Do you think he came in his breeches?”

“He’s so cute!” she said. “How old is he?”

“He’s twelve. He needs to man up,” Sigefrid shrugged. 

“Awww, little lamb! He'll grow.”


	5. Ale Ride

The spring Sigefrid turned 16, he was to join his father on his first season of raids along the Frisian coast. He’d built up muscle mass and gained strength rowing on training expeditions, and felt pretty confident in his sword and axe training. He could hardly wait to finally be battle tested, and start building a name for himself. 

He was definitely a hot head, but his father in particular thought that raiding could channel his wilder streak into wealth and reputation. Sigefrid had the making of a real berserker, Thurgil thought, and he hoped that that was a good thing. 

Sigefrid had befriended other boys his age from neighbouring farms, who would come into the village to drink ale and mead and to stir up trouble. He’d shaved the side of his head, started wearing leather armour and kohl around his eyes, and envied friends who’d already earned their first arm ring. Erik and Leif followed the older boys like their shadows, but struggled to keep up.

Thurgil and Solveig were held up in the village for a child-naming ceremony which the boys had deemed a complete snore, and they’d snuck out of it early. Sigefrid had invited his friends Gorm and Harald home, and they’d quickly broken into the ale and made themselves comfortable. Erik was sipping quietly on the cup of ale Sigefrid had forced into his hands, hoping to blend in a corner.

“This ale is weak… Who brewed this crap?!” Gorm bellowed.

“Some slave girl,” Sigefried shrugged, like he’d started shrugging at most things. “I’ll hump her harder, maybe the ale will improve!!” Sigefrid cheered, and Erik thought that was dumb and it made no sense. 

Harald and Gorm started wrestling around the hearth, tripping over each other, knocking over a couple of seats. 

SIgefrid perked up. “My father just got this new horse. A real beauty!! Wanna check it out?”

His friends were not particularly enthused, but agreed to come as long as they could take the jug of ale with them, and Sigefrid shrugged in agreement. 

“It’s nice enough,” Harald scorned, terrified not to sound completely aloof and jaded. “Have you ridden it, Sig?”

“Not yet. Father just got it.”

“I have…” Erik said, and Sigefrid gave him a harsh stare. “It’s a fast horse. A good beast.”

“Maybe it’s your turn tonight, Sig!!” Gorm cheered. 

“Sig, my man!!” Harald seconded.

“I don’t think…”

“Shut up, kid.” Sigefrid shoved Erik off. “It’s my turn!! Except I’m druuuunk…” He laughed with that big man voice he was trying out.

“Well, you know what they say…” Harald snickered.

“What?” Sigefrid had no idea.

“When the rider’s drunk, then the horse should be too!! It evens things out.” 

Erik was not impressed. “Sig…”

“Tiny, get lost!!” Sigefrid snapped.

“Yeah Erik, just go play dolls or something,” Harald scorned.

“Go play with yourself…” Gorm added, and they both laughed.

And Erik felt chastised enough to leave, but had the dreadful sense that Sigefrid was in way over his head. Gorm emptied the jug of ale into a bucket, and offered it to the horse, who started drinking the ale with gusto. 

“How much ale does it take to make a horse drunk?” Sigefrid asked.

“Lots, I think. They digest it well,” Harald said.

“How do you even know that?” Gorm snapped, and Harald shook his head.

“We need more ale!!” Sigefrid cheered once the horse had finished the bucket, and Gorm raced back inside the earl’s hall to grab another jug. After the third jug, the horse was staggering, and Gorm bellowed, “Your stallion is ready, earl Sigefrid!!!”

The boys scrambled to saddle the horse, took it out of its enclosure, and helped push Sigefrid up onto its back, and the horse wobbled and shook its head, and Sigefrid leaned a bit crooked, and the horse stumbled forward, and Gorm slapped its rear with the bucket, and the horse bolted onto the path that led to the edge of the village and into the woods, running somewhat diagonally, with Sigefrid hanging on for dear life. 

Erik came back out, alerted by the noise. He, Harald and Gorm ran behind Sigefrid into the woods, and they found him sitting on the path, holding his shoulder. 

“Saddle slipped off,” he just said, and he stood up. It was dark in the woods for there was no moon, but eventually their eyes got used to the obscurity. 

The horse screamed an awful scream, and the boys followed the noise. They arrived to a dried up river bed that the beast had fallen into. The horse was lying sideways and kicking its legs madly into the air. 

“Oh, shit…”

The beast’s two front legs were bent in a way that seemed off. Then Erik noticed the bone sticking out. 

“Sig, it’s hurting. We need to kill it…” Erik said.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!!”

Erik grabbed his brother by the shoulders. “Sig. Let’s get the ax.”

And Erik led Sigefrid back to their yard where he handed him the big axe. Harald and Gorm thought it was probably best not to stick around.

“Have some water. You need to do this right. I don’t have the strength.”

The Thurgilson boys headed back down the path. Sigefrid raised the big axe and killed the horse in a few clean strokes, Erik cried, and they waited in their father’s hall, bloody and sinking of ale and mud and sweat, ready for the sky to fall on their heads. 

“You killed my horse.” It hit Thurgil like a blow to the stomach. 

“You drank my ale…” Solveig sniffed. Erik’s eyes were wet and desperate and Sigefrid was suddenly fascinated with his boots. 

“WHAT HAPPENED?!!” Thurgil exploded. They’d never seen their father angry like that. Or angry at all, really.

Erik spoke, his voice shaking. “It fell into the river bed. On the path to the North mountain. It broke its front legs. It was suffering so we got the axe and Sigefrid killed it. Cleanly.”

“THOR’S BALLS!!! How did my horse end up in the RIVER?!!” Thurgil looked at Sigefrid, raging. “YOU, MY SON, you are nowhere near ready to join my men on the raids. Maybe next year. IF we ever manage to shove any sense into that crazy head of yours!!!”

Sigefrid’s eyes went wild with rage, and Solveig feared her son would strike his father, but then Erik spoke. 

“It was me…”

“You?!!” Thurgil raged. 

“I took the horse for a ride. It was too dark, and I did the saddle wrong. I fell off, and it scared the horse and it panicked and it fell in the river. I got Sigefrid and… he helped me. He helped me kill it.”

Thurgil slapped Erik, who fell backward. Solveig grabbed his arm. “Thurgil, a word? Boys, wait outside.” 

Sigefrid helped Erik onto his feet and they escaped into the back yard.

“He didn’t do it,” Solveig said.

“No?!”

“He’s covering.”

Thurgil was still fuming. “You’ve got a soft spot, Solveig.” 

“I know my sons.”

“Erik is 13, boys that age get into all sorts of trouble. He’s not your baby anymore.”

“Thurgil, you know as much as I do who’s responsible for this.” She sat and put her head into her hands. “Sigefrid needs to grow up. To become trustworthy. Until he does…” she sighed, “I don’t think he’s ready to raid. You need men who have your back on that ship. He’s a hazard.”

Thurgil was frustrated. “Why do you WANT it so badly to be Sigefrid? What if it’s Erik? And Sigefrid helped him like Erik said? Isn’t that growth? Wouldn’t you be proud of that? Why are you always so hard on him?”

“I just don’t buy it.”

Thurgil took her hand. “But you don’t have proof... Why would Erik lie about something like this?”

Solveig sighed. “Then what do I do with Erik?”

“If Erik did it, then he must be disciplined. He killed a freaking war horse…”

In the yard, the boys were awaiting their sentence. 

“Kid, why did you do that?” Sigefrid asked Erik, incredulous.

“You need to raid…” Erik said. “It’s your dream.” He grinned, “that way you can tell me what that’s like. I don’t want us to wait another year!”

“Yeah but you’re gonna get it, tiny…”

“I’m her favorite. She won’t hit me that hard,” he tried to convince himself. "You'd do the same for me..."

"Nah..." Sigefrid shook his head.

"Really?"

"See, my brother would never kill a horse on a dare!" he smirked, and he reached to mess up Erik's hair. “Kid, I don’t know what to say…”

“Say thank you? And bring me back some silver.” 

“You got it!”

“Oh, and Sig? My name's Erik.”

“Ok, t… Erik. Thank you, Erik.” he said, holding his brother’s shoulders as he pressed his forehead against his.

Solveig came out then. She gave Sigefrid a furious look, and she pointed at Erik. 

“I’ll give him 50.” 

Erik gasped. 

“And you’re going to watch.” 

While Erik recovered from his mother’s flogging, Sigefrid picked up his chores in a way Solveig found both heart-warming and suspicious. But she was relieved to notice Sigefrid’s newfound respect for his younger brother, whom he took everywhere and protected like an extension of himself. They were bound, and nobody was to mess with Erik. And that summer, Sigefrid raided with earl Thurgil and his men, and they made great plunder along the Frisian coast.


	6. Because I Can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mention of rape. Sigefrid has done some vile stuff... 
> 
> When we meet Sigefrid and Erik in TLK S2, they find it completely normal for viking raiders to claim women, and there's some messed up things happening under their watch in the hall of Beamfleot. Somewhere along the way, they become really desensitized to violence and cruelty. I tried to explore that aspect of their development, as honestly as possible, without softening them, even if it's disturbing. This chapter might be worth skipping if it's not for you, though. The next one is much sweeter.

_"You can’t stimulate and let loose the animal in man and then expect to be able to cage it up again at a moment’s notice"_ —a WWI colonel1

* * *

Sigefrid’s first raiding trip was a milestone for the entire family. It was a short-enough operation, just a few weeks of sailing down the fjord and across the strait, of trading and resupplying along the Danish coast, followed by a few targeted raids in Frisia. Word of unrest between the Frisians and their Danish invaders had travelled through merchants, creating opportunities for Norsemen to plunder as they pleased.

In preparation, Sigefrid had tried to grow a bit of a beard, but he hacked it off when Runa let him know that the in-between wasn’t doing much for his face. He settled for a couple of fearsome braids instead. The family gathered to watch Thurgil’s largest ship sail away, packed with a hundred men armored with swords and axes and shields and spears.

Erik was restless until his brother returned, high as a kite from the trill of it all. Thurgil was bursting with pride, and Sigefrid with an enthused smugness that spilled everywhere. Erik pushed his way through the crowd of welcoming villagers, and jumped abord the ship to embrace his brother, who lifted him in a bear hug. Week-old dried up blood had tainted his leather armor. Sigefrid was grinning from ear to ear. Erik noticed the silver arm ring and gushed.

“You’ve earned one!”

“I fought back two men that ambushed our camp! Here. I got you this.” He pulled a small ornate silver crucifix hanging on a strip of leather from around his neck and passed it to Erik.

“Woah. What’ that?”

“It’s their God. It’s dying. Nailed to some wood plank. I don’t really get how that’s supposed to kill him... It’s silver.”

“Thanks! It’s awesome!” Erik passed it around his neck. “Who did it belong to?”

“Some Frankish merchant whose ship we attacked.”

Erik pointed at a handful of nuns with ropes tied around their necks that were sitting against each other between the rowers’ benches.

“Who are those?”

“These are from a nunnery we passed along the Frisian coast. The place was loaded with treasure. Never seen anything like it. Brother, there were screaming nuns everywhere, we brought down the fear and chaos! I had the blond one in their temple. I stuck it up her arse!”

Erik was perturbed. “I thought you liked to please girls… Why would you…”

“It’s not the same, baby brother! It’s like hunting for prey. In the moment, you feel like you can take anything you want. So you do.”

Sigefrid mused, “I wonder if I could keep her. As a keep sake…”

“Keep her?!”.

“My first nun!”

Erik was shocked by Sigefrid’s shameless cruelty. It took him a moment to put his discomfort in words.

“Sig… you took everything from her. Do you really want to be the guy who rubs her nose in it, every day?”

“I supposed not.” He hadn’t really thought it through.

“Let her move on. Some family will buy her.”

Erik was silent for a while. “Does father also…”

“No. He’s not like that.” Erik nodded at that.

Sigefrid added, “there’s different men out there. Some turn into beasts, they don’t hold back. They come alive in battle. Others are more… calculated? Like father. He goes in with a plan, he’s deliberate. That’s you too, I think. Not cowardly. Cool headed.”

Erik felt sickened at the thought of deriving pleasure from forcing himself on a screaming nun’s arse. But maybe things were different in the moment? Or maybe he was different. Different from Sigefrid, definitely. Then again, most people were, he’d come to recognize that. Erik hoped he had the makeup of a warrior, but sometimes he wasn’t sure. Maybe he was like his father. Or maybe he was more like Leif. Leif who loved to sail, but had no interest in joining the raids, despite the fact that he was skilled with a sword, and deadly with a hunting spear. Leif wanted to grow stuff, to build things, to raise a family. He didn’t wish to plunder, to kill for the fun of it, to die away from home ambushed by strange people defending their wealth. And Leif was a dear friend. A decent man. Maybe he was more like Leif. But Erik felt a pull to the sea, and he didn’t think he would have the strength to resist it any more than his brother had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. source: Wing Commander Sara Mackmin RAF, Why Do Professional Soldiers Commit Acts of Personal Violence that Contravene the Law of Armed Conflict? Defence Studies, Vol. 7, No. 1 (March 2007), pp. 65–89.
> 
> I use the term Norse or Norsemen to refer to Norwegians, in the same manner that Bernard Cornwell distinguishes between Danes and Norsemen in his books. I assume that Erik and Sigefrid grew up somewhere along the Oslo fjord. In the 9th century, it is thought that most of Norway was populated by individual farmsteads, rather than larger settlements, except in the south where the land was easier to farm. For example, the town of Kaupang, which existed between the 8th and the 10th century, which is the first-known Norwegian trading outpost. 
> 
> From the first scene I wrote, I kind of cornered myself into choosing a location where the edge of the water is warm enough to sit in with a newborn on a summer night, assuming it’s shallow and has been warmed up by the afternoon sun. Apparently, water in the Oslo fjord can reach 20 degrees (C) in the summer, which is probably as good as it gets for a fjord. 
> 
> With a touch of math, I counted backward from the events in Beamfleot, which took place around 886, when I guestimated Sigefrid’s age to be around 35 (the actor's older, but people definitely aged faster back in those days!). I positioned the year of 16-year-old Sigefried’s first raids 19 years prior, in the summer of 867. That year, there was a revolt in Frisia during which the locals managed to drive out Danish invaders that had held Dorestad for years, and I thought Norwegian vikings may have taken advantage of the chaos and plundered to their little heart’s content.
> 
> I also wanted to explore some of the dynamics behind people who commit acts of personal violence in conflict situations. "In many conflicts looting and rape are seen as ways to allow soldiers to wind down and release internal emotions following a period of intense fighting. These are also ways of further proving superiority and control over the defeated enemy and were seen historically as the ‘spoils of war’ "[1]
> 
> Individual differences exist in the propensity to commit acts of violence. "At the extremity of natural disposition lies the  
> psychopath who positively enjoys and seeks to hurt or kill others. [...] If a man with a very strong pre-disposition  
> to violence is placed in a position to kill without control measures being in place, the results can be horrendous." [1] This is something that Bernard Cornwell portrays really well: in the books, Uhtred estimates that one man out of 4 is a warrior, but that one out of 20 gets a real kick out of fighting. Joy in battle, basically. That fits with evidence that soldiers with a high disposition toward violence are the ones more likely to commit acts of personal violence, just like a handful of bad apple police officers are responsible for a huge majority of problematic interventions. Basically, individuals with a propensity for agression see an opportunity to let it out of their system. As much as I'm fascinated by his character, I'm afraid that Sigefrid would have definitely fit that description.


	7. Birth Right

A year had passed, and Sigefrid had joined his father again for a second season of raids. He was already earning respect among the men for his instincts in battle. A real natural. At 14, Erik was still bidding his time. That afternoon, he was at the docks to meet his father and brother, who’d just returned with slaves and treasures. Sigefrid was glowing, showing off his latest scars. 

Erik was helping to unload the ship when he noticed men staring at a group of women who were carrying packages back from the market. The youngest, 13 at most, was gazing around, wide eyed, like she’d never seen the harbor. Her long blond locks were tied into intricate tresses, framing her heart-shaped face. Thurgil followed his son’s gaze and patted his shoulder. 

“Looks like little Estrid is fully grown!” he winked. 

Erik blushed. Before he could formulate a though, Sigefrid stepped off the ship, pulled his father by the arm and cheered, “Father, won’t you introduce us?” 

As the earl’s next eligible son, Sigefrid took pleasure in casting a wide net. 

“Good morning, Bodil!” Thurgil saluted. “Ladies.”

“Earl Thurgil!” a woman squealed. Something in her eye sparkled that piqued Erik’s curiosity. 

“What a rare sighting. What brings you down to the village? Solveig would love to have you over for dinner if you’re here long enough.”

Mentioning his wife dampened the woman’s enthusiasm somewhat, which she masked poorly. 

“We would be delighted. This is my youngest, Estrid. She’s helping me care for my father. He’s getting very frail…” 

“I am sorry to hear that,” Thurgil answered, genuinely. “Let me know if we can help in any way. These are my sons, Sigefrid and Erik. Sigefrid has joined our raiders for a second year. He’s proving to be quite the sailor!”

“And little Erik is jealous!!” Sigefrid cheered, slapping his brother’s back. 

Erik cursed him silently, and the blond girl, who must have been Estrid, bit her lip and looked down, smiling. Erik’s gaze got caught in her endless eyelashes.

“Ladies, do you need help carrying your purchases?” Sigefrid offered, flashing a broad smile.

“Brother, you’re covered in blood,” Erik pointed out. 

“Erik can accompany you,” Thurgil offered. “Bodil, we will follow up with a dinner invitation!”

And before he could protest, the older women offloaded their purchases into Erik’s arms, who wobbled a bit under the weight. 

“My salutations to your father, Bodil!”

The women walked on, and Erik did his best to keep up the pace. He found out that Bodil had been his father’s neighbor, that they grew up together. They’d even been engaged, for a time. She’d married a man from across the fjord, and the family had settled up in the mountains. Her father, an old warrior, lived alone by the harbor, where he helped repair ships. 

Estrid had been glancing at Erik quietly. “Your brother's funny!” she gushed. 

Erik laughed. “Among other things!” 

“So you’ll be joining the raids as well?” she asked him, her huge grey eyes fixated on him. 

That smile would not leave her lips, mocking but sweet. Everything about her was sweet. Like honey. She was graceful and slim, with the loveliest face. By far the prettiest girl Erik had ever seen. 

“Next year maybe, when I’m 15. I’ll need to prove myself to get a place on the ship… Depends if they need men.” Sigefrid had been pressuring his father non-stop for Erik to join them.

“Won’t you be scared?”

“I’m mostly bored! Sigefrid gets all the good stories. I need to start making my wealth.”

“And who cares for the land when all the men are gone?” Estrid inquired.

“My mother. My sister too. They have enough workers.” 

“And don’t they ever get bored?” she teased. 

Erik hadn’t thought of that. “My mother, possibly. She used to join the raids. Before us.” 

Ahead of them, Bodil snickered. Gradually, the two youngsters were left behind by the group ahead, swallowed up by their own bubble. 

“She’d be too busy now. There’s a lot to attend in the village. And my sister has young ones.”

“Praise the gods for women, keeping the world running while men sail off to play!” Estrid teased. Erik didn’t mind. Even her teasing was sweet. 

He had to agree. “It’s a good thing my mom has my sister. Sigefrid can’t stay put for long enough to grow anything… Probably best if he’s not in charge of the land. He likes to fight.” 

“And what about you?” Estrid wondered.

“I would like to sail…” he offered. “You?”

“Oh, I get sea sick! I would make an awful Viking, I’m afraid.” 

She looked at him then, and she must have liked what she saw, for she added, blushing. “My mother wishes for me to be married, sometime next year. I’m the last daughter. Eight girls,” she winked. 

Erik felt himself blush too. The thought of settling down had never really crossed his mind, and it had never seemed so appealing either. They eventually reached the house where Estrid’s grand-father lived, a few houses down from the eastern edge of the harbor. The women made Erik bring the packages inside, thanked him and sent him on his way. He walked away dreaming of Estrid’s smile.

“Erik!!” Sigefrid saluted him as he walked into the hall, hugging his brother. “That girl is something, heh! She looks ripe…” 

Solveig laughed despite herself. “Son, that one is not for play.”

“Why not?” Erik asked. 

Solveig and Thurgil exchanged a look. “Bodil was Thurgil’s fiancée. Until she introduced him to me…” 

Erik pursed his lips, but Sigefrid was amused “So… I can’t hump her daughter because you poached her man?!!”

“Something like that, yes. Basic decency?” Solveig grabbed Sigefrid in a head lock. “The least I can do for an old friend is to prevent my disgrace of a son from impregnating her baby girl! Haven’t you found enough servants to hump?”

Slow to catch up with the banter, Thurgil felt an urge to explain. “I had a say. I chose your mother!... Anyways, the gods sent me you three as punishment,” he scorned. 

“Estrid is to be married by next year…” Erik announced, with his work-in-progress grown-up voice. 

“Is that of interest to you, son?” Thurgil asked, surprised. 

Sigefrid laughed. “Father, did you look at her? Even Erik wants to fill her with pups!”

Erik shrugged. “Why not? I’d be of age then.”

“At 15?!” Solveig asked. 

“Runa was married at 14.”

“Runa is a girl… Sweetie, I thought you wanted to join the raids next year.”

“I do. Could I not leave my wife behind? Like father does?” Erik pleaded.

Thurgil explained, patiently. “Erik… I could carve out a small piece of land for you. But there would be very little guarantee for her. What if you got killed in a raid? It’s a risky choice for a young wife. I doubt Bodil would agree to the match. In time, we should marry you when you’re more established …”

Sigefrid barged in. “A man’s gotta make his wealth, brother. And his reputation!”

“Easy for you to say. You come with land…” Erik scoffed.

“I don’t want land. Runa can have my land. There are no sheep farmers in Valhalla!!” Sigefrid bellowed.

“You could give it to me! I could stay for a while. I’ll farm our land. I’ll make it prosper. Grow the sheep heard. I could secure more ships, increase the trade with our neighbors…”

Sigefrid snickered. “I give you 6 months.” 

Erik stood firm. “Mother, could this be done?”

“If Sigefrid is stupid enough to give up his birth right...” Solveig groaned, shaking her head.

“I am stupid enough!! I donate my birth right to the greatest cause of all, for the last Thurgilson virgin to finally wet his cock!”

Solveig buried her face in her hands. “I give up. They're yours to raise, Thurgil.”

Thurgil stepped in. “These are very big decisions. Let’s sleep on this. For a while. We’ll invite Bodil for dinner." He looked at Erik. "Just dinner.”


	8. Like Honey

Erik had insisted on delivering the dinner invitation himself, and his parents just laughed and let him. He returned to the old warrior’s dwelling first thing the next morning, having slept poorly. His heart was pounding when he knocked on the door, and Estrid answered. 

“Hi!!” he said, too loudly. 

“Erik!” Estrid’s face lit up. She slid through the partially opened door and closed it behind her, discretely. “What do you want?” 

“My mother asks if you can join us for dinner. You and your mother. Tomorrow.” His throat was dry. “Are you free?”

“I think we should be. My aunt can look after grandpa, I suppose. Is that all?” she smiled, encouragingly.

“Well… I could show you around if you want…” That didn’t come out smoothly. “I could take you on the fjord? On my boat?” Erik had been entertaining the idea, and now he'd just blurted it out.

“Hmmm… I don’t think my mother would approve.”

“No, I guess not...”

“I’ll meet you at the docks tonight, once she’s fallen asleep!” She opened the door widely then, and shouted “mother? It’s Erik Thurgilson. Can we do dinner at the earl’s hall tomorrow?”

Her mother answered positively, Estrid flashed Erik one last honey smile, and then she disappeared inside. And Erik didn’t know what had just hit him.

He spent the day rinsing and scrubbing his faering to get rid of the fish smell, and when it was clean enough, he padded it nicely with blankets and furs so Estrid could keep warm on the water. He'd been waiting patiently at the docks that evening for what felt like hours when Estrid eventually appeared, a vision of softness wrapped in a woolen shawl. Erik took her hand to help her step onboard. He rowed away from the village, far into the fjord where it was just them, the mountains and the starry sky. The view was breathtaking, and Erik gave himself a mental pat on the back. There was no wind, which he was thankful for because Estrid was prone to sea sickness, he’d remembered too late.

For a while he didn’t have much to say. He just stared at her perfect heart-shaped face and felt himself smile like an idiot. Estrid had tied her hair in a different way, half up and half down, with braids cascading down her shoulders. Her lips seemed frozen into a sweet, perfect smile, her huge eyes fixated on the moon and stars. Erik put the oars down and left the faering drift with the currents.

“This is incredible…” Estrid said, earnestly. 

“I really wanted to take you here. Thanks for coming with me!”

“What if I said no? Would you have taken your brother instead?” she teased. 

Erik laughed, and he loved that she’d made him laugh. She was witty. And sweet. And marvelous.

“Definitely not! I come out here sometimes to escape my brother… I wanted to share my special place with you.”

Estrid smiled and scrunched up her nose. “I hope your intentions are pure, Erik Thurgilson. What would my mother say?” she giggled. 

“Would you prefer if I turned around and fetched her?” he joked. 

“Not at all. Oh no, I see her, there on the docks. She’s looking for us!” There was nothing on the docks.

“Quick, lie down, hide!!” Erik pushed Estrid’s head down, playfully, and she pushed his hands back, laughing, and he caught her hand and kept it, and she didn’t seem to mind. He held it until his palm got sweaty and then he let it go. 

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“A bit,” she lied. 

“Can I warm you up?” he offered, sounding bolder than he felt.

“Please do,” Estrid smiled. Erik moved smoothly to sit next to her, he grabbed a blanked and he wrapped them both into it. He left his arm there, tentatively wrapped around her shoulders, and he felt relieved when she leaned against him. Her body was not cold at all. 

“This is perfect,” Estrid sighed. “Much better.”

Erik was content just to sit against Estrid’s body and gaze up at the stars, until he started to wonder whether she wished for him to kiss her. Not that he really knew how. He’d practiced a bit with Revna when they were little, but that didn’t really count. And he could hardly imagine himself kissing her the way Sigefrid kissed hid girlfriends, hard and full mouthed and sloppy. That felt wrong. Or maybe she dreaded that he’d kiss her. Or she’d kissed many boys, and she would find him terrible at it. Erik couldn’t quite tell, but then he didn’t want to disappoint, so he was stuck. He figured he might as well ask, as dumb as that made him sound.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I would like that,” Estrid answered, all smiles. Erik thought that everything was easy with Estrid, that everything was soft. He turned his head toward hers, grabbed her chin ever so gently and gave her a slight peck on the lips. He wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do next. 

But Estrid placed her soft hand on his cheek and she pressed her lips against his, and she kept them there while her hands slid into his hair, and Erik let her kiss him and took some mental notes.

Once she released him, he asked, a bit embarrassed. “So… you’ve done this before.”

Estrid laughed a gentle, easy laugh, leaned in and whispered, “I practiced with my sisters!” The expression on Erik’s face did not disappoint. 

“So you’ve kissed more girls than I have!” Erik admitted. “I did not practice with my brother,” he added.

“I hear he’s quite experienced,” Estrid said, a bit worriedly, having possibly expected the same from his younger brother. 

“Yeah. I wish he was… less experienced,” Erik shuddered. “He’s loud.”

Estrid was properly horrified, and Erik smiled broadly, because Estrid made it so easy to smile. He asked, cheekily, “so what else did you learn from your sisters?”

Estrid was happy to demonstrate, and they stayed a long time, alone on the fjord, learning to explore each other’s mouth. Erik had to row back and take Estrid home, eventually, but even Sigefrid could not wipe off the stubborn smile that was stuck on his face.


	9. An Agreement

Dinner the next day was a civilised enough affair. Estrid and Erik sat on different sides of the table and did not say much, but barely took their eyes off each other. Solveig though her son could have made Estrid pregnant just the way he was looking at her, but pretended not to notice. Sigefrid’s manners were mostly in check, which Erik was grateful for, having begged his brother all afternoon not to make a spectacle of himself.

Bodil sat up tensely until her second cup of mead, and then she cheered up. The elders caught up with each other’s news. They spoke of children and grand-children, of births and sickness and marriage and death. Bodil described the circumstances of her late husband’s passing, and her struggles finding a suitor for Estrid within their small community after having married off her seven sisters.

“I’m afraid eligible men are becoming a rare breed up in the mountains,” Bodil said while eyeing Sigefrid. “And what of you, young man? Are you on the market for a wife?”

Eric stabbed his brother with his eyes, and Sigefrid inhaled his chicken and coughed and choked and couldn’t answer for several minutes. “Not yet,” he finally managed to say.

At the end of dinner, the parents started reminiscing on their youth, and the Thurgilson boys gathered enough quality material to blackmail their mother for a lifetime if the need emerged. Eventually, it was late, and Erik and Sigefrid accompanied their guests back to their residence. 

After that evening, Erik waited every night on the docks for Estrid to join him. Sometimes she’d be held back and sometimes she’d come. They would take Erik’s faering onto the fjord and laugh and make out and share stories and dreams. 

The kids were smitten with each other, that much was obvious. Erik was adamant that his mother should discuss marriage with Bodil, and Estrid pestered her mother relentlessly on her end, and the two mothers eventually caved under pressure and agreed to at least discuss the matter over a large cup of mead or three. 

“They’re puppies,” Solveig groaned.

“Love-drunk puppies,” Bodil agreed. “Solveig, I’ll be honest. Erik has no land. No wealth. He wants to raid. He’s practically a child. I can’t agree to this.”

“Maybe we could arrange something,” Solveig sighed. “Sigefrid doesn’t want land. He’s bent on being a warrior. He might agree to split his birth right between Erik and Runa.” 

“Would he, really?”

“He’s said that much himself. If he agrees, Estrid could live with us. If anything were to happen to Thurgil and I, Runa and Sigur would support Erik until he’s more experienced. Estrid would have safety.”

“But I don’t want her to end up a widow, Solveig. Erik needs to be established before he joins the raids. Wait at least a few years.”

“He might agree to that. He’s quite… motivated.” They both laughed.

“Solveig, this is ridiculous!”

“Oh, it’s way too soon! Why don’t we wait a while? See if the puppy love runs its course. By next spring, if they still want to marry, we could work something out.”

“What if your boy gets my Estrid pregnant? Don’t think I haven’t noticed them sneaking around.”

“Bodil, if my baby puts a baby in your baby, then my baby will need to honor his commitment. I’ll make sure of it.” Solveig added. “He’s a good kid. Estrid could do a lot worst. He’ll make a good husband.”

“Like his father,” Bodil said, caustically.

“Like his father,” Solveig nodded.

“I hate you,” Bodil said, matter-of-factly.

“I know.”

“I’ve missed your mead though!” Bodil added cheerfully, saluting Solveig with her raised cup.

Erik and Estrid spent lots of time together that summer, getting bolder with their discovery of each other. When the weather turned cold, they found new ways to keep warm. They would often get together with Leif, Revna, and Ivar and Skarde, whom Erik had befriended while he lived with their family. Ivar’s health remained frail, but he was good company. Everyone would gather around the hearth inside the earl’s hall with a cup of ale and tell stories. Sigefrid would join them sometimes and share tales of his latest travels. 

Erik and Estrid would practically sit on each other. Breathing each other’s air, as Solveig described it. Ivar would tell old stories about the gods, and give them his own personal twist. That night, he told the tale of the unhappy marriage between sea-god Njord and the Giantess Skadi. 

“For the Giantess Skadi lived on the highest mountain peak,” Ivar winked at Estrid, “where you could hear the cries of the wolves at night. But Njord the sea-god lived by the sea!” 

Ivar turned his attention to Erik, “and the sea-god, who had been born on a night when the moon was full, and who was destined to be eternally chased by wolves like Máni himself, packed his bags and abandoned his giantess to go plunder the Frankish coast with his Viking kin!” 

Everyone laughed at the jab, Erik louder than the rest. Then it was Sigefrid’s turn to share anecdotes from his latest Frisian expedition, which he did with gusto. 

“We’d been sailing down the river on our way back to Dorestad, and food was running low. The men were hungry and grumpy, and by chance we stumbled on a small ship that was sitting low that looked filled with merchandise,” Sigefrid gestured. 

“So, we ambushed them then, right? Didn’t spill any blood, we just gave the merchants a good scare, and they surrendered all these barrels they were carrying. They said it was fish. Loads and loads of barrels of fish!”

“So, we bring the barrels on board and we row away. But then father opens one of the barrels, and he tries the fish, and it’s pickled! In vinegar! It’s this absolutely vile pickled fish, not dried fish or smoked fish or salted fish. Pickled.” Sigefrid made a disgusted face, for effect.

“Turns out, none of the men could stand the stuff!! It was bad! Except for Halfdan, but Halfdan would eat his own toe nails,” he shrugged.

“Randver was gonna throw all that shit overboard, right? We couldn’t really spare the space. But father… the fearsome earl Thurgil Olafsson, in what I would call a pure Thurgil moment, father decided to turn the boat around and return the barrels!”

“Noo!!!” Leif screamed.

“Oh yes!" Sigefrid turned to Erik. "You know him and wasting food... Anyways, the bastard made us row back, upstream, until we found the merchant ship, and we gave them every single one of those vile barrels back.”

“Were the men angry?” Revna laughed.

“You bet! They made a song about it!”

“Did father punish the men for that?” Erik asked.

“Not at all! He loved the song! It’s catchy.”

After that, Leif picked up a lyre and he played an old song, and Estrid started singing along with her lovely voice. She forgot the words half-way through, and she just started making it up, improvising the notes and creating her own thing. The song ended, and for a moment nobody talked and nobody moved. Then Erik got up to get more ale, and Leif followed him. 

“That girl of yours, she’s too much, Thurgilson! You’re a lucky bastard.” 

Erik agreed. He could barely believe his own luck. Sigefrid was cheerful too. He liked to leverage the fact that he’d given up his birth right to secure his brother’s future for the right to stick his nose in his relationship. A few times, Erik made the rookie mistake of oversharing his private plans with his brother, and came to regret it. That morning had been one of those times.

“Erik!! My brother!!! How. Does. She. Ride?!!” Sigefrid bellowed at the top of his lungs.

Erik wasn’t sure what kind of information Sigefrid was fishing for. “Huh… she’s… wet? Tight. She bled a little...”

“Brand new, eh! What kind of sounds does she make?!” Sigefrid inquired.

“She didn’t really make any…”

“Ok, now I feel bad for the poor thing. Did you lick her like I showed you?” he asked, eagerly.

Erik shuddered. “Sig, can I just have this for me?”

“No, no! No, no, no! I want to share in the glory! My baby brother is a man!!” Sigefrid cheered.

“A man who wishes for privacy?”

“You’re no fun at all, brother. Should I ask Estrid myself?” Sigefrid asked.

“Please don’t.” Erik was a bit worried. “I hope I did ok… She didn’t scream like yours do.”

Sigefrid reassured him, “Ah, that will come with practice!!” He offered, “I could ask Auda to help you get better, if you want.”

“You would do that?” Erik wasn’t certain he wanted that.

“Sure!! She’s like the village’s longship. One more Thurgilson cock won’t make a difference. She’s a good ride! Really plump tits. She’ll teach you the basics.”

After some consideration, Erik, who’d always been pragmatic and who aspired to become a well-rounded man, took Sigefrid up on his offer. He added new skills to his repertoire under Auda’s caring tutelage, and Estrid, who was the main beneficiary of these lessons, was none the wiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solveig responded to Bodil with what I like to call the Reverse Han Solo


	10. Summer of  ‘69

Estrid’s grandfather passed away late in the fall, and Bondil thought that she and Estrid should head home before winter made travelling too perilous. It was agreed that Erik and his parents would come to Estrid in the spring to negotiate the terms of their marriage. Assuming that all parties still agreed to it, Estrid and Erik would be married by the end of the summer. Erik would join the raids for that season, and then he’d settle down as he’d promised. His grace period, Sigefrid called it.

Erik moped for a while after Estrid’s departure, but Sigefrid kept him busy preparing for the spring. The brothers had grown up dreaming of the moment they’d finally sail together as Vikings, and Sigefrid was not about to let Erik blow up that opportunity. At 15, Erik would be very young to join the raids, and he needed to bulk up so he could pull his weight and earn his spot. 

Every day, rain or hail or snow or shine, Sigefrid sent Erik out on the fjord to row. At first, Erik rowed until his hands bled, and eventually they stopped bleeding. As soon as he’d step back on dry land, Sigefrid would teach him sword or spear or battle axe skills, and he barely held back. They hunted a lot together that winter too. Solveig complained about the speed at which they ate through her winter supplies, but deep down she was proud.

Spring came, and when the snow had finally melted in the mountains, Erik, Sigefrid, Solveig, Thurgil and a few of the earl’s men travelled to Bondil’s home to formalise the marriage agreement and to negotiate the bride price. Erik’s determination had not wavered. Sigefrid was also filled with glee knowing that he would not be tied to the land or weighted down by responsibilities. 

Estrid, who’d been on the lookout for travellers for weeks like her life depended on it, welcomed them into the family dwelling. She saw Erik and did a double take. Erik was a good head taller, and much broader in the chest and shoulders. He wore leather armor, pulled his blond hair back in a pony tail, and had traced his eyes with kohl like a warrior. Estrid smiled, tentatively. She was curvier and fuller, maybe a bit taller, and even more beautiful than Erik remembered.

“I’m so happy to see you!” Erik beamed a big earnest smile that lit up his face. 

Estrid laughed then, reached around his neck and stood on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek. Erik picked her up to twirl her around, and it was like they’d never parted. 

In the absence of a father or brother, terms were negotiated with two of Estrid’s brother-in-laws. To offset their reservations about the length of the engagement or about Erik’s raiding plans, Thurgil agreed to pay the bride-price in full, and silver eventually changed hands. Estrid’s dowry was modest, but the earl was generous, possibly making amends for past wrongs. Witnesses were gathered, Erik spoke the official words that sealed the arrangement, and Bondil welcomed everyone to a feast. 

Over dinner, Estrid shared her own news with Erik and his parents.

“My sister, Gisla, and her husband, they’re moving to my grandfather’s house in a month’s time! He and his brother have purchased a new ship, they’re taking over the family trade. They’re merchants.”

“That’s.. great!” Erik said, “she’ll be nearby after we’re married.” He winked, “you two can run after your kids together!”

Estrid blushed. “Yes, of course! But she’s overwhelmed with her latest. They’re breeding like rabbits...” She laughed. “I’m going to help them with the children for the summer.” 

“Oh!!” Erik said. 

And suddenly, everything was lining-up for Erik to experience the most incredible summer of his life. Once they’d returned home, Sigefrid was quick to resume Erik’s gruesome training regimen. And then it came. The blow.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Thurgil admitted, disappointed. “I won’t take the men to raid this season.”

His knee had been a bother all winter, and now he’d injured his back while cutting firewood and he’d worsened it while horse riding, and he’d finally accepted the inevitable. 

“I’m awfully sorry, boys. I know how much this meant to you two.”

Sigefrid smashed his bowl of soup, and he threw his cup against the wall for good measure. Without a word, he stormed out of the hall and he disappeared for three full days. Erik raged too, but he mainly worried about his brother who’d been so invested in their summer plans. 

When Sigefrid reappeared, he was covered in grime from days of riding on the roads, excited like a little kid at Yule. 

“I got us a gig!” he yelled at Erik, as soon as he got off his horse.

“Say what?”

“With earl Knud!! He’s looking for men. He’s got two ships, and he’s building a third one. He needs a crew to fill it. He’s planning a big raid in Frankia in two months’ time.”

“And we can join?” Erik asked. 

“We’re hired! I told them you’re 17 and it’s your third season!! A blood-thirsty killing machine, I said!” Sigefrid was ecstatic.

Erik, less so. “Oh, no…”

“Oh, yes!!!”

“Sigefrid…” Erik shook his head.

“Aww, don’t worry, brother! I’ll be right next to you. Now get back to rowing!!”

In a month’s time, Estrid arrived in the village, pale with nausea from her journey on stormy waters. This time, she and Erik took full advantage of the absence of her mother’s chaperoning. As they were to be married, and since the bride price had been exchanged, they were blissfully careless with their affections, and everyone looked the other way. 

That month, Erik and Sigefrid joined their father’s crew on short trading expeditions along the Norse coast, and when it was finally time for Erik to go raid with his brother, he felt good and ready. 

The night before he left, he took Estrid on the fjord with his faering, for old times’ sake. 

“I have something for you,” Erik said, and he handed her a small leather pouch filled with silver coins.

Estrid opened it. “What’s this for?” she asked, worriedly.

“Your morning-gift. Just in case…” he did not finish.

Estrid clutched it in her hand, and gave Erik a stern look. “Do not die…” she said, very seriously. “Do. Not. Die.”

“I won’t die,” Erik laughed. “I’ll have Sigefrid with me, and he’d kill me if I died! Then he’d bring me back, and he’d kill me again. Slowly.”

“Then do not get murdered. Or ambushed. Or slaughtered. Or mutilated.”

“Not even a little?” Erik teased. “Surely there are parts of me that you could live without…” 

“Like this ear, maybe?” Estrid kissed him there. “It’s not my favorite.”

“What’s wrong with my ear?”

“Oh, nothing. I just like the other one better! If I’m forced to give up anything, I’d ax that one first,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Aren’t they both the same…?”

“Not at all,” Estrid smiled. “See, this one is right next to where I like to rest my head. We’ve got a bond.” 

“Fair enough,” Erik conceded. “What else?”

“Hmm, not your nose,” she shook her head.

“Not even just a bit?”

“No. I love your nose. Plus, I’d need to look at your noseless face every day and that’s just sad,” Estrid grimaced. 

“Not the nose then,” Erik nodded.

“I guess I could do without a few toes. And the little fingers. I’d keep all the others though…” Estrid whispered, cheekily, “you’ve very good with your fingers.”

“Heh,” Erik laughed. “Just with my fingers?”

“And… your mouth,” she laughed. “I’d keep the mouth. And… you know.”

“I don’t,” he teased.

“Your thingy down there,” she blushed.

Erik burst out laughing. “Is that really how you call it?!”

“Hmm, hmm,” Estrid nodded. “Let’s not get that part chopped off either.”

“Noted.”

“For… family reasons.”

“Of course.”

“Erik?” 

“Yes.”

“If you die, don’t let Sigefrid kill you. I would wish to finish you off myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigefrid padded Erik’s resume just a titch.
> 
> According to the Viking Answer Lady, the morning-gift was a sum payed by the groom to the bride after the wedding was consummated (unlike the bride price, which was payed to the woman's family, or the dowry, which was the woman's portion of her father's inheritance which she brought into the marriage), as a compensation for her sexual availability to her husband. It served to ensure the woman's financial support during the marriage. Also, traditionally, negotiations would have been done by the men, but you know the two moms are totally pulling the strings ;)  
> Source: http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/wedding.shtml
> 
> Also, I think I accidentally wrote a Bryan Adams song with this chapter, I only realized it after the fact. Oh, well!


	11. From Frankia with Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tricky chapter for me to write, definitely outside my comfort zone!! 
> 
> English is not my first language, so I find describing action/adventure tricky because I don't always find the right verbs to describe movement. I also don't have a lot of vocab for sailing and boat stuff! I usually like to pack chapters with dialogue and focus on dynamics between characters, but this particular chapter is very descriptive. So I hope it's not too dull!
> 
> I also wanted to take the time to flesh out a new character, earl Knud, and make him interesting enough that I will want to keep writing about him!
> 
> And if you're curious, here's a little bit of info about the Edict of Pîtres promulgated by Charles the Bald in 864 to protect Frankia against Viking raiders.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edict_of_P%C3%AEtres

The trip was to last a month. They’d been blessed with fair weather as earl Knurt’s three longships crossed the channel to reach the Danish coast and followed it all the way to Frankia. Their fleet grew on the way as they joined two Danish earls to gain strength in numbers. Erik and Sigefrid shared a rowing bench, like they’d gotten used to on their father’s ship the month prior. 

Earl Knut was a youngish man who’d been born to a thegn’s bed-slave and had risen from nothing out of sheer ambition, making his name and growing his wealth rapidly along the way. He was ruthless, coldly strategic and he ran a tight ship. His crew was a well curated pack of experienced warriors, sailors, smiths and ship builders. 

Knut was also, according to Sigefrid, completely devoid of any sense of humour. From the moment he’d boarded, Sigefrid had rubbed the earl the wrong way, and things only worsened as time went on. Erik kept a low profile and tried to blend in, painfully aware of his lack of experience. While the men quickly warmed up to Erik, Sigefrid was more of an acquired taste, and he was naturally drawn to the crew’s more reckless elements. 

Their first few attacks were clean, targeted operations. Knud’s spies, often travelling as traders, would report on the content and whereabouts of passing ships, and Knud would decide which ones to target. The men would form a shield wall, and Erik stood in the second rank, behind Sigefrid, protecting his brother’s head with his shield and battle axe. What he lacked in skills or precision, Erik made up for with his desire to keep his brother’s head on his shoulders. Sigefrid was a vision of rawness and fury, but Erik was surprised to discover that he was cool and collected under pressure. Calmness in battle, some men called it. An almost joyful state of mind when one was completely focused in the moment. 

Tensions between Knut and Sigefrid reached a breaking point once the fleet reached the Frankish coast. The men had successfully raided a couple of coastal villages, and Sigefrid and some of his friends were assigned to guard the captives. Knud was unimpressed when he stumbled upon their latest initiative.

“What on earth’s going on here?” 

The earl rarely ever raised his voice, yet his tone was cutting. Sigefrid and his buddies had tied up a few captives with ropes, and made them face each other in single combat. They’d also set up a table for men to bet on a winner.

“It’s just a game!” Sigefrid cheered, boisterously. 

“Are these my captives?” the earl asked.

“We though the men could use a bit of entertainment,” Sigefrid scoffed, his enthusiasm dampened. 

Knud’s face expressed a slow, controlled rage. “These men are my property. They are for the slavers to buy, not for you to kill for the fun of it. Stop this nonsense immediately, or I’ll seek compensation from your share of the plunder.”

Sigefrid managed to curb his anger enough to nod in agreement, and Knud felt that all that needed to be said had been said. 

Later, the earl came to find Erik. “Boy, we have a problem,” he said calmly, as he sat across from him at a camp’s table.

“You’re clearly no warrior. I see that you try hard, but you’re green. If your brother had not sworn on your mother’s head, I’d say this is your first raid…” 

Erik looked down, flustered. He got the sense that he was the pray, and that the earl was slowly closing in on him, toying with him just for kicks before delivering the final blow. 

“My brother may have exaggerated my credentials…”

“You don’t say.” Knud warmed up then, ever so slightly. “But you’re a good kid. And you’re learning. Your brother’s the problem.” 

Erik looked up, surprised. 

Knud continued. “Men are talking.”

“Which men?” Erik asked, worriedly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Knud swatted air with his hand. “Some are out of patience with Sigefrid. He’s insubordinate. He’s a complete nut job with his axe. I can’t control a man like that. He’s a danger to himself, and he’s a danger to this operation.” 

Knud looked Erik in the eye. “But he listens to you… And you seem like you have a good head on your shoulders.” He stood up. “From now on, he’s your job. You keep him in check. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Or else?” Erik asked, worriedly.

“Boy, my men are good men. But they have their limits. Someone’s going to snap, and Sigefrid’s going to get stabbed and thrown overboard. This isn’t daddy’s ship anymore.”

The earl had a point. Sigefrid had gotten away with murder, figuratively and literally, while raiding the coast under his father’s benevolent protection. This was an entirely different game.

Erik found Sigefrid, who welcomed him with a pat on the back. Knud’s bed mate passed them then, a slim woman with luscious black hair, and Sigefrid ogled her behind and let out, loudly enough for her to hear, 

“I’d ride that.”

And without fully understanding what had come over him, Erik slapped Sigefrid behind the head, decisively. 

“Woah! What was that for??!”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed. Think, would you?” Erik snapped. 

Sigefrid's eye twitched, but then he chuckled, amused by Erik’s sudden burst of assertiveness. 

The next task ahead was to sail up the Seine and raid the country side. Five years prior, King Charles the Bald had decreed measures to deter Viking longships from sailing up his rivers and unleashing chaos into the Frankish interior. By kingly decree, river towns were to build fortified bridges to block the ships, and a large cavalry had been assembled from men who owned horses. Charles had also made it punishable by death to sell horses or weapons to the invader.

And so, facing a mounted army, Knud needed to secure horses of his own without raising suspicion. For those kinds of missions, the earl preferred to send out his most reckless warriors. Young daredevils eager to make a name for themselves, preferably unmarried to avoid making orphans and widows. Men like Sigefrid and his friends. The expendables, they liked to call themselves, and they wore it on their sleeve. 

“Find me a dozen horses. I don’t care how you do it,” Knud had ordered them. “Don’t lose too many men,” he’d added, for Sigefrid’s sake. Erik was to tag along.

Earl Knud had tied his three ships at a distance from a fortified river town, and the expendables had walked up to it, avoiding the main roads, dressed and armed as warriors. They found many horses tied outside the town’s eastern gate, guarded by warriors inside the gate’s tower and up on the wall. 

It looked as though the Frankish cavalry was gathering in response to the Northmen sailing upriver. Sigefrid, Erik and the others sat down in a wooded area to agree on a plan. 

“We could attach tonight,” Sigefrid suggested. “Go quickly and grab as many horses as we can.”

Not everyone agreed. “That tower’s gonna be our death. They have archers up there.”

“We could creep up from the forest, form a shield wall...”

The man called Birger, a belligerent one, shook his head. “None of these horses are saddled. They’d be onto us, slaying us on horseback before we can run back to the woods. 

Erik had been silent until now. “What if we walked into town and bought some horses?”

Birger snapped at Erik. “They won’t sell to Northmen, Baby Earl… Are you dim?” 

“His name’s Erik,” Sigefrid growled. “Let him speak.”

Erik continued. “We could sail up river in that Saxon boat the men captured yesterday. It’s still good.”

“What are you even…” Birger scorned again.

“Let him speak...” Sigefrid repeated.

“We dress as Saxons. Loads of bodies left on that beach. We walk into town, buy maybe four horses with hack silver...”

Birger lost his patience. “Now you want to pay for them?!”

“I said LET HIM SPEAK!” Sigefrid slammed the head of his battle axe against the boss of his shield.

The men were startled enough to let Erik finish his thought. “Once we’re mounted, we return as raiders and we get the rest of what we need. Herd the freed horses with our own. We lose some silver, but if we’re lucky, we ride away with most of our men.”

“That’s… not bad.” Birger admitted. 

Sigefrid patted his pack. “See… what did I say?”

The plan worked well enough. While none of the expendables spoke the local language, and despite the fact that their attire wasn’t fully credible, the Franks also spoke the universal language of silver. The ruse gave the town men the plausible deniability they needed to trade with impunity, while assuming that mounted Northmen were soon to become someone else’s problem. Inside the town, it was a quick affair to trade silver against four horses, an investment that paid well when Sigefrid, Erik and the others rode back to earl Knud with fourteen horses in tow. 

When he felt that the Frankish interior had been properly slashed and burned and when his ships were filled with plunder, earl Knud and his men headed home.


	12. Homecoming

The cheerful crew anchored the returning ships into earl Knud’s harbor and were quickly swarmed by welcoming relatives and friends. Sigefrid and Erik mostly stayed out of the way, as these weren’t their people. But then Erik recognized Estrid in the crowd, and he sensed that something was off. He pushed his way through, embraced her and smiled uncertainly. 

“I’ve missed you!” Erik said, with a cheerfulness that felt a bit forced. Estrid’s smile was strained. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Not here…” and she pulled him by the hand, away from the crowd. They found a dock that was quieter, further in the harbor, and they sat facing the water. 

Estrid grabbed Erik’s hands, and she meant to concentrate all her love in the look she gave him. “Your parents,” she let out.

Erik gasped. “Are they…?” 

“They sailed to Kaupang with your father’s men. Just a quick trading trip. On the way back, some of the crew started feeling ill. Fever, chills, coughing. Your father quarantined the ship in the harbor to keep the village safe from the sickness. Many men died…” Estrid’s voice broke, “he never made it out of that ship, Erik…”

Erik felt like he’d been hammered in the head. “And my mother?...” he finally managed to ask.

“She lives…” Estrid's eyes filled with tears. “She was better, for many days, so they let her on land. And then out of nowhere she got a lot worse again. She’s very weak, Erik.” She squeezed his hand and tried to control the trembling in her voice. “We came to get you. Before it’s too late.”

Erik looked frantically through the excited crowd. “Sigefrid, where is he?” 

Leif arrived then, horses in tow. “Thurgilson…”

They embraced, and Leif felt his old friend’s body wobble against his long, skinny frame. 

“I got your horses saddled. We’re ready to ride as soon as you are…” 

Erik nodded, grateful, and he dove into the crowd to extract his brother, who’d been bragging about his exploits to some brunette. Sigefrid, Erik, Leif and Estrid pushed their horses for hours and barely stopped until they finally arrived at earl Thurgil’s hall.

Servants came to welcome them and care for the horses. “How is she?” Estrid asked an old maid.

“Barely with us…” the woman answered, and she gestured at the brothers to follow her inside. 

Their mother had been propped up on a bed in a quiet corner of the hall’s second floor, next to a window that faced the harbor, thought she was too weak to stretch sufficiently to admire the view. She’d lost a shocking amount of weight. Her eyes were sunken, her skin ashy, her hair dry, her voice a raspy whisper. 

Sigefrid let Erik see Solveig first, and he stepped away to give them privacy. They whispered for a long moment, quietly, then Erik walked away, tears running down his cheeks. Sigefrid patted his shoulder as he passed him.

“Sigefrid. My wild beast,” Solveig called to him from her bed, each word a deliberate effort. Sigefrid kneeled down and hugged his mother. “I hope life... treats you kindly, my son.”

“Unlike you did?” he teased, warmly.

Solveig shook her head slightly. “My son… It was love. And..." she coughed, "fear.”

“Fear of me?!” Sigefried asked, surprised. 

“Fear... that I could not fix you.”

“Fix me...?” he frowned.

“There’s a... coldness in you. Sometimes I worry your heart is numb...” she coughed again. “There is so much beast in you.”

Sigefrid grabbed Solveig’s skinny hand, and he placed it on his heart. “I feel this. I will miss you.”

“That’s good,” she smiled, weakly. “Remember that. Remember me," she coughed. "Make me... proud.”

“I killed father’s horse,” he said, softly. 

“I know...” she whispered, with her eyes closed.

“Then why on earth did you punish Erik?!" he bursted out. "He couldn’t walk for days!!”

“I…” she struggled to push herself up on her elbow, and Sigefrid reached to assist her. “I wanted you... to feel. His love for you.” 

Solveig’s gaze was sad and tender. “Erik feels things that… you don't. You will need him. Life isn’t all slashing and burning. It’s about building… and connecting. Erik knows how." She squeezed her fingers onto Sigefrid's hand. "Keep him close.”

Solveig lied back then, out of breath. “Take care of each other." She closed her eyes. "My boys.”

She made one last effort to learn toward Sigefrid, who pulled her up gently. “Don’t..." Solveig smirked, "sharpen his teeth.” 

Sigefrid let out a sudden laugh, his eyes filled up with tears. “And Runa?”

“Runa’s figured it all out," Solveig smiled a painful smile. "Do as she says.” She coughed some more, a long wheezing bout, and then she did not speak anymore. 

Solveig kept her last few breaths for Runa, who arrived by boat that same night, and who walked up to her mother’s bedside and said nothing. They’d been so close, they’d shared so much, and now there was nothing left that needed saying that had not already been said. Runa just took every last minute she could, until there were no more. And soon enough Solveig was too weak to sit and too weak to speak and too weak to smile, and then she was gone.

Men who’d recovered were let off the earl’s ship while those who did not, a third of the crew, deboarded as corpses. The villagers burned the deceased’s bodies together into pyres to cleanse the sickness, and wept for these fathers, brothers, sons and friends. Thurgil and Solveig’s bodies were buried on a ship filled with goods and sacrifices that was lit on fire and pushed onto the fjord. 

The funeral brought on days of feasting, drinking, music and animal sacrifices. When it came to a halt, Runa, Sigefrid and Erik were relieved to finally be alone, just the three of them, the only people who truly knew what that felt like to have lost that particular mother, that particular father. They sat around the hearth’s fire and relished the bitter sweet peace.

“What were mother’s last words to you?” Runa asked her brothers.

“I love you,” Erik said quietly. 

“Don’t sharpen his teeth.” 

The three of them burst out laughing, a big cathartic belly laugh that took the sting out of those gloomy days, grateful for this unexpected parting gift. And they felt that things would be fine again, because they still had each other.


	13. Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bonus mini-chapter I added to my story. It was inspired by a conversation I had with WildWren on a comment thread ;) 
> 
> There is it, in all its glory: Estrid’s reaction to Erik’s extra-conjugal activities!

A few weeks had passed since Erik and Sigefrid’s ill-fated return home, and soon enough they had to prepare for their next raiding expedition. Knud and his men were sailing back to Frankia, encouraged by their previous successes. 

In what had been earl Thurgil’s hall, Erik and Estrid were sitting together by the hearth, thinking of the months ahead. One last raid, and then they would enter married life together. 

Estrid looked away for a moment, her eyes stuck on something left against the wall. Without looking at Erik, she asked, “What do Frankish women look like?” 

It was unlike her to express those kinds of insecurities. Estrid was well aware of her effect on most men, generally, and on Erik, more specifically, and she was not particularly jealous by nature.

“Hideous,” Erik replied, with a straight face. “Beastly. Saggy tits. It burns the eyes just to look at them, it’s a real shame!”

Estrid scorned. “I know how men are when they travel far away… My mother says that her father had a woman per harbor.” 

Bondil had never completely warmed up to Erik’s summer plans, and he knew she would have filler her daughter’s ears with her concerns. And she was right, up to a point. It was common for married men to pick up concubines along the way. 

Estrid decided on a more direct approach. “Erik, did you… lay with anyone? On your trip?”

“If I said I did not, would you believe me?” Erik said.

“Should I?” She looked skeptical.

“You should,” he smiled, tenderly. “I just don’t see the point. Anyone else wouldn’t be you, and that’s just upsetting.”

Estrid raised an eye-brow. “Upsetting?”

“Upsetting, in theory!”

She frowned.

“Look, I didn’t do it!!” Erik swore.

Estrid pinched her lips. “I heard things…”

“That’s never good…” Erik laughed, a bit nervously.

“That you laid with Auda.” Estrid looked like she enjoyed torturing him. “For practice!” she laughed. And laughed.

Erik turned bright red. “Are you done laughing?” he asked, eventually.

"Noooooooo!!!" Estrid squealed, and she laughed some more. "Ok, now I'm done," she breathed.

Erik stared at his hands. “I did it for you…”

“I know!” She kissed his cheek. “You’re adorable.” 

He tried to shake off the embarrassment. “There’s nothing like practice…?” 

“Dork.” She added, “Erik… I would prefer if there was no more of that.”

“I would agree. That was last year…” He gave her a smirk, “what about you, did you welcome any men into your bed in my absence?”

“Erik?!!!” 

“What? Leif’s a good looking fellow. Nice guy, too!”

She laughed and shook her head, “he’s a dear friend, you idiot.”

“What about Skarde? I’ve caught him staring at…”

“I don’t wish to hear this!! It’s not my fault that you have terrible friends,” she shrugged. 

And Erik swore on his father’s grave that he would let no other woman, Frankish or otherwise, in proximity of his penis, or he’d let Estrid cut it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagined Estrid to be one of those people who've always been so blessedly well-loved that all they know is love. It's tempting to envy people like that who've had it so good, but they get to be so darn likeable that you're just happy for them. 
> 
> Estrid is from a very nurturing family: her mother is caring and protective (if a tad uptight), and she's the cute, mischievous baby sister to seven older girls who've always spoiled her to death. So it doesn't really cross her mind that she might not be loved, because that's all she's ever known. 
> 
> So she's got that serene-like confidence, while Erik, who grows up with a very dysfunctional sibling, has a sharper edge (despite being a sweetie too).


	14. Powder Keg

In the aftermath of her parents’ death, Runa became de factor leader, and she kept the household and the settlement running. She’d rushed alone to her mother’s bed side, and Sigur and the children were to follow her shortly. The family was to move into the earl’s hall permanently. 

It was agreed that Sigur would replace Thurgil as earl. Claims to the land were split evenly between Runa and Erik, but the land would be administered by Sigur and Runa while Erik travelled. Once married, Estrid and Erik were to live with Runa’s family until they got their own place. Sigefrid, who did not wish to be tied down, had yet to sort out is housing situation, but he did not seem concerned.

The Thurgilson brothers were just about to leave to raid with Knud for a second time when the word arrived of a change of plans. The earl had cancelled the upcoming Frankish expedition, and wished to sail to Ireland instead. Departure had been pushed back by a few weeks. Knud’s fleet, which included four longships now, was to join the Norse settlement in Dyflin and winter there. For Erik, it meant that his raiding days were over, at least for the near future. 

Estrid felt relief at this turn of events, but Erik wondered what would happen to Sigefrid. He remembered Knud’s words. Stabbed and thrown overboard. He hoped that Sigefrid would be able to join, but also manage to come back alive without Erik's balancing presence. 

Erik had grown up navigating Sigefrid’s moods, reading him like his life depended on it. He’d known, from a young age, when it was best to make himself scarce, when to step out of the way, how long to let Sigefrid rage and blow steam, and when and how to nudge him back toward reason. Through years of managing his brother, Erik had developed a good instinct for it. That knowledge had helped him keep Sigefrid’s worse urges in check in Frankia. And so, as soon as Sigur stepped through the hall’s door, Erik knew the situation was out of his hands, and he held his breath, praying that Sigefrid's upcoming departure would restore the peace. 

But things degenerated surprisingly quickly. One night when Erik was out with Estrid, Sigur started to think out loud about building proper stables. Sigefrid poured himself some ale. Sigur then discussed with some of his men how he’d relocate Thurgil’s old retainers and allocate them their living space. Sigefrid groaned and fetched himself more ale. Then Sigur considered how he might sell some of the family’s slaves and trade them for fitter ones. He also pondered how much he and Runa might get for Thurgil’s war horses, since he’d brought enough of his own. And Sigefrid kept drinking and grumbling, and drinking and fuming. 

And then Sigur took down Solveig’s sword from where it had always hung, by the hall’s main entrance, and he gave it to Runa to put away. And Sigefrid hurled his cup of ale straight at Sigur’s head. Sigur’s men pounced, and Sigefrid raged and hit back, and the brawl turned ugly. The men beat him and punched him and kicked him and tied him and whipped him into a bloody mess. 

When Erik arrived, he found Sigefrid tied to an empty horse pen, barely conscious. With help from a family slave, Erik helped Sigefrid onto his feet and brought him inside the hall to lie down on a sleeping platform. Runa was fuming and Sigur had left the hall. 

“He’s banished,” Runa told Erik. “From the settlement.”

“What??!!” 

“Sigur is banishing Sigefrid. As soon as he can walk.”

Runa climbed the stairs to the second floor and locked herself in a room with her children. Erik tended to Sigefrid’s injuries, and the hall went to sleep. 

The next morning, Erik approached his sister. Runa was plucking a chicken in the kitchen, passing her rage on its carcass. He walked in and sat next to her, and her face betrayed that she’d been crying. Erik cleared his throat. 

“What do you want?” Runa snapped. 

“To talk…”

“There’s nothing to say, Erik. It’s done,” she said, coldly.

“You could speak with Sigur. He’d listen.” Erik threw her a bone. “He’s a good man.”

“But boooooring,” Runa hit back.

“But good. Runa, Sigefrid needs you…” he pleaded.

She clapped back. “No. Sigefrid only ever thinks of Sigefrid, and I’m done. I am sick of picking up his mess. I’m sick of picking up everyone’s mess.”

Runa was letting her anger run free. “You, and Sigefrid, and father, you just sail away and come back as you please, your face half chopped off, your pockets filled with trinkets, your ships packed with bleeding nuns tied like cattle!” 

Her eyes teared up, but she continued. “And WHO do you think breaks their back all year to grow the food you find on your table? To make the ale you drink? Who births and raises the farmers who plow your fields? Who milks the freaking sheep? Me. Mother. Women. And Men like Sigur. People like us grow the wealth that Vikings plunder.” 

Erik slammed his hand on the table. “Sigefrid gave up his birthright for your family, Runa!! The least you can do is give him a place to come home to!”

Runa threw up her hands. “Erik, please!! Sigefrid could not dump his responsibilities on me fast enough so he could go play chop-the-monk with is buddies.”

“Mother would never allow this,” Erik said, sternly.

“Mother is gone.” 

Runa sighed. “Erik, I’m a mother too. And my children’s crazy uncle Sigefrid has made his bed, and he needs to go.”

Erik just sat there, bent forward, his head between his hands, and he thought for a long time.

“Then I’ll leave with him,” he finally said, quietly. “I’ll keep him out of trouble...”

“What?!”

Erik gave his sister a pained look. “Whom else?! I’m all he’s got left.”

Runa shook her head, gently. “Oh, Erik. Sweet, dumb Erik.” 

She wrapped an arm around her brother’s shoulders and struggled to reach around. He’d really bulked up over that past year. She’d rocked him to sleep, let him in her bed like a little blond ball of cuddles when he’d been scared of the beasts hiding in the night. And she blinked, and now he looked and acted like a man. Sons will break your heart, Solveig had told her, and Runa wished her mother could have seen him now. She asked him, softly.

“And where will you go?”

“To Ireland. With earl Knud. We’ll winter in Dyflin.”

Runa let that information sink in.

“Erik, what about Estrid…?”

Erik couldn’t bring himself to say anything. If he’d opened his mouth, he felt that all his resolve would vanish and he’d fall apart. 

After a long moment, he managed to say, “Her mother thinks she can do better. Maybe it’s fate.” 

He got up. “We’ll leave as soon as Sigefrid can travel.”


	15. Picking up the Pieces

Erik had gone straight to Estrid with his news. His decision. Right after he was done throwing up, that is. Estrid was floored.

“I don’t understand…” is all she could say, for a while.

Then the tears came. Lots of them. Erik wished he could have drowned in them but he welcomed the pain they caused him because he thought he deserved at least that much.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, over and over.

“Why him??!” Estrid finally snapped, through tears and snot. “Why ALWAYS him? No matter how much he fucks up, you chose him!!”

“I’m all he has left. I’m his brother.”

“YOU’RE ALL I WANT,” she shouted. “Why can’t you choose me?! You said you loved me, and you’re leaving. I don’t understand.”

Erik sat next to Estrid, his head against hers, and for a long time no words came. Just his tears, which blended with hers, his tears of sadness mixed with her tears of despair and rage and disappointment. They sat like this for an hour, maybe two, and the day turned into the night, and then Erik got up, and Estrid clutched his hand one last time, and then she let him go.

Erik came back the next day, and Estrid let him in. Her face was a swollen mess and his wasn’t much better. They sat against each other again, holding hands in silence for hours. Then he left, and he came back again the next day, and they sat again in the same way. When Erik got up to leave, Estrid finally spoke.

“Here,” she said. She handed him a leather pouch with silver coins, the one Erik had given her a few months back. “Your morning-gift. I’m returning it.”

“You can keep it…” he said. “I’m as good as dead anyways.”

“I don’t want it. I don’t want anything from you. You've given me enough,” Estrid took one last look at Erik and said, “Don’t come back. I won’t let you in.”

When Erik came back the next day, nobody answered.

Erik let his feet walk him toward the water, mindlessly. He was almost on the other side of the harbor when he heard footsteps behing him.

“Thurgilson, Thurgilson!!” Leif had been running to catch up to him.

“Leif…”

“You’re leaving. You’re fucking leaving!!” Leif was raging. Erik had never seen him like that. Through all their years of friendship, they’d never really fought. “I can’t believe you.”

“Sigefrid needs me. Sigur cut him off, he’s got no home to go to. No family.” Surely Leif would understand that.

“And Estrid??! Your betrothed?!”

“I wish I could take her with me…” he sighed a miserable sigh.

“Take her??! You were supposed to stay!! You made plans. You promised her. And she believed you. And she let you…”

“I know…” His throat felt tight. Erik wished that Leif would have punched him. “Sigefrid has only me. And Estrid is Estrid. She’s beautiful. And light. And warm. And kind. As soon as I’m on that boat, a bunch of men are going to line up and beg to marry her. She’ll be loved. By someone who can give her the life she deserves. Someone better.”

“She chose you, dumb ass. And you broke her fucking heart. And who’s gonna pick up the pieces now?!”

Erik knew that Estrid and Leif had become close. Leif had never given Erik any reason to suspect anything more than friendship, he’d never stepped out of line. He was a decent, loyal friend. And yet.

“You?...”

“Me, or some poor sap who’s not you, who’s never going to be you. And her mother, who’s gonna curse your father’s grave. Estrid gave you the best of her, and you’re tossing her like she’s nothing!!!”

Leif took a deep breath. He wasn’t finished. “And you still think you’re a nice guy, Thurgilson. That’s the worst of it. You think you’re being all noble, saving Sigefrid from himself. Good, brave, self-sacrificing Erik. You’re so full of shit! You were always going to step on that ship. That’s who you’ve always been. You’re no better than your sick fuck brother.”

That stung. Erik’s eyes filled up with tears. “Maybe I never deserved her…”

“You should have thought about that before you knocked her up, fucktard!!”

“She’s…?” Erik was winded. “She told you that?”

“That, and a lot more. She won't see you again.”

“No…” Erik’s legs felt weak. “But…”

“No. Estrid doesn’t want pity. You should have chosen her, and you chose Sigefrid. You chose Sigefrid, so you get on that fucking ship, and you leave her be!”

It hit Erik like a brick. Leif’s pure, disinterested love for Estrid. Leif would have wished Estrid for himself, and yet it was Erik’s abandonment that was unforgivable. In desperation, Erik begged his friend. “Will you take care of her?”

“Fuck you, Thurgilson. Fuck you. Of course I will.”

“Leif, I… Thank you. You’ll always have my love. And my gratitude.”

“We’re done here.” Leif spat. “I hope you never return.”

Erik focused his efforts on nursing Sigefried’s injuries, so he wouldn’t think. He put his pain in a corner of his mind, deep down so his heart wouldn’t burst. It took a week for Sigefrid to be well enough to sit. He was too injured to ride, so Erik decided they'd take his faering and row to Knud’s harbor.

He helped Sigefrid onboard, and he focused on rowing. He didn’t look back. How could he? If he had, he felt he would have come undone and melted into a puddle of tears.

“You should stay…” Sigefrid said. “Drop me off, and come back.”

Erik shook his head, “And let you have all the fun? Fat chance!”

It was a knee-jerk answer. As long as he rowed, and kept the banter flowing, Erik thought he had a chance of keeping it together.

“How’s the pain?...” he asked Sigefrid.

“What pain?” Sigefrid bluffed. “I look worse than I feel…”

“You’ll get some good scars out of that one!” Erik teased.

“I hope it won’t scare off the ladies…” Sigefrid smirked, painfully.

“Maybe you should get that one tattooed over,” Erik pointed at a large bruise around his eye that spread to his cheek.

“Hmm, what do you suggest?”

Erik joked, “well, it’s shaped like a pair of tits…”

Sigefrid laughed, holding his bruised ribs. “Do you think that would spook the Irish? Tits tattooed on my face?!!”

“It might confuse them a bit. If you look all cuddly, they might not see your axe coming!”

“Hehe. Tits it is, I guess…”

Knud had a funny expression on his face when saw the Thurgilson boys row their faering into his harbor, but he never asked questions. When the longship that would take them to Ireland exited the fjord to enter the North sea, Erik felt lighter, like he could finally breath. He closed his eyes, and let the open waters comfort him. He’d been a child, and now he was a Viking.


	16. Epilogue (884)

Erik and Estrid met again, many years later, when the Thurgilson earls’ warships travelled along the Norse coast and entered the fjord of their childhood. To trade, Erik told himself. By then, Erik and Estrid’s respective paths had split in irreconcilable ways. They’d both become different people, he a battle-hardened lord of war, and she a mother, a farmer, a pillar of her community. 

Erik was broad chested, bearded and covered in tattoos and scars. Estrid was rounder, her hair darker and shorter. Her smile gave rise to folds that had started to mark her face. But her huge gray eyes were just as Erik remembered. The same sweetness emanated from her, the honey-like essence he’d gotten so drunk on, maybe spiked by just a touch of snark. 

Erik had been with many women since, many more than he could count, yet he was caught off guard when his body just knew how to fold itself around hers when she reached to kiss his cheek. That felt way too close and he quickly stepped back. 

“You ripped my heart out, Erik Thurgilson,” Estrid told him with detachment. Although the memory of that encounter would haunt her for years to come, in that exact moment she felt as if it had happened to someone else, in a distant time. 

“I still dream of you,” Erik said. 

“The gods are not done punishing you,” she smiled, and that hit Erik right in the gut.

Leif refused to see him. He and Estrid had been blessed with six daughters, one married and the next two on the verge of it. 

“My kind has yet to figure out how to produce males,” she’d joked, thinking of her late mother.

Her eldest, the only blond in the lot, had an air of familiarity. Long lashes, piercing blue eyes, and a contagious smile that spread to her entire face. Erik didn’t give himself the right to speak with her. Leifsdottir, her name was. She was with child, her first one.

Runa embraced her brothers warmly and welcomed them into her home, and Sigur grunted and let her. She fussed over Sigefrid’s amputated hand like a doting mother, despite his protests. Their pack of children had grown into well-behaved youth. Not a raider in sight. And the place that had once been the only home Erik knew felt nothing like home, because life had passed and destiny was calling elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue may have been inspired by my high-school reunion ;)


End file.
